


The One Where John and Sherlock Adopt Eight Kids

by jamesgatz1925



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Children, M/M, Parenthood, basically they have a soft spot for orphans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesgatz1925/pseuds/jamesgatz1925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not ask me why, but I feel like the soft, caring Sherlock we've all interpreted would totally want to adopt children. So here they have eight, and these are stories about the eight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John had already been to war by the time they met. He was twenty-nine and had survived a gun shot wound and infection, and had he known what his life would be like when he stepped into the morgue laboratory at St. Bart’s Hospital that fine day, he would’ve reminded himself of these facts. He’d paid his dues to society. He’d saved enough lives. But he didn’t remind himself of these facts.

Sherlock Holmes was twenty-seven at the time and in every way going on sixteen. He looked so young and frail that John did, in fact, wonder if he was to become the guardian of this child. It wasn’t until later that he found out this man was eleven years older than he expected, and that somehow he’d kept the youthfulness through dozens of rehab visits.

They fell into orbit like two people meant for each other do. They consumed each other. They were the air and the sun and the moon. They were always happy, if not with each other then at least with their situation. They were in love.

They didn’t realize anything was missing from their lives until three years later. Now thirty and thirty-two, they began to notice that every couple their age had a kid or two, maybe three already. And they were childless.

Which was all fine.

Until they met Elias. Elias was the baby boy turned orphan when his mother killed his father in a domestic dispute. Sherlock solved the case, of course, it was easy, but for weeks he wondered what happened to the little boy who happened to look so much like him.

They visited Elias in the orphan home. He loved Sherlock and Sherlock fell in love with him, which is how they found themselves, by his second birthday, the fathers of the baby. Elias began to call Sherlock ‘Dad’ right away, but the boy never failed to confuse himself when referring to John. So instead, Sherlock came up with the solution to call John ‘Papa’. John hated it at first, because he claimed grandfathers were papa’s, but soon he changed his mind because of how easy it was for Elias.

They didn’t expect to want any more children, until about a year later when they decided one more could be fantastic. Everything was going so well with Elias that they thought adopting a baby from birth next would be a brilliant idea.

The girl who chose them to adopt her baby was French, which was interesting. They were involved in the birth every step of the way, and months later Taylor was born. He was an adorably round baby with tan skin and brown eyes, and Sherlock spoke French to him almost exclusively. This is how Elias learned bits of French, and when he was upset at school he’d speak it instead of English.

They were quite happy with their two boys. The boys were healthy and growing so fast. The thought of having another baby didn’t cross their mind.

Every time the boys grew out of clothes, John and Sherlock would gather it all up to donate to the orphanage where Elias was kept before his adoption. It was at least twice a year that they’d visit, and when Elias was growing out of his five-year-old clothes is when they met Petra.

Being five-years-old too, she caught John’s attention instantly. That and she was wriggling under her bed to find the baking soda she’d stolen from the kitchen to conduct an experiment with the rubbing alcohol she’d just found in the bathroom. John knew she had to come home with them. And Sherlock thought she belonged with them because of how much she looked like John.

So then they had three, and they were quite content with two boys and one girl. But soon their daughter began to feel outnumbered. She asked for a sister, she told them about the little girls back at the orphanage, so soon their hearts were set on another little girl to complete their home.

Allison was brought home when she was four-years-old. She had bouncing ginger locks, a freckle spotted face and blue eyes the sizes of footballs, and all she had to do was flash them or twirl her hair and she’d get whatever she wanted. She was smart and funny, but she was the only person able to get on the bad side of Elias. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, it was that she liked to pick on him to make him mad.

The next year was spent chasing a ring of human traffickers. It was one of the most difficult cases they’d ever worked on, it nearly ruined Sherlock because he couldn’t solve it all or find the women smuggled.

Eventually, they found the women, but it was too late. The scene was one of the worst they’d ever seen, and what made it worse was the little girl found there. Luckily she was alive, but she was malnourished and dirty, her dark skin and hair were light from lack of sunlight.

Sofia was abducted from Spain three years previous, and she only spoke Spanish, but Sherlock was able to speak to her. Because of this, she was hooked to him. She wouldn’t let him leave her side, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to make sure she was safe, so seven months later she was adopted by them.

They quieted down for a while, focusing just on raising the five they had instead of finding more. But in a somewhat similar fashion as the last, three years later they met Mia in trouble and looking for someone to raise her twin one-year-olds. Nico and Cole were beautiful identical boys, and Mia needed to return to Greece where she came from. John and Sherlock agreed to keep the boys until they could find a permanent home for them, but in the end, the boys were quite happy at 221B and everyone was happy with them. They were adorable, with their dark Greek-olive skin and green eyes. Sherlock even took up Greek to speak simple terms to them, as he did with each child that was of a different nationality.

When the twins were three, they decided that one more wouldn’t hurt. With enough room and the boys outnumbering the girls, they wanted to try for another girl.

And sure enough, Wiley was born. She came with a wild mop of blonde hair and dimples big enough for John and Sherlock to fit their fingertips in, and she was loved by all of her older siblings. With their two oldest kids turning into teenagers soon, they both asked _Please, Papa and Dad, no more babies._ And then they decided that for sure, they were finished.

And they’ve been quite happy with all eight since.


	2. Elias, age 4. (Or The One When Sherlock Meets Superman)

“Daddy, who’s better? Superman or Batman?”

“I don’t know what those are,” Sherlock mutters, not even looking up at Elias and instead jotting another note down.

“Dad!” Elias cries hopping onto the sitting room desk where Sherlock is working. He almost kicks over a half drank mug of cold tea.

“Eli!”

“Sorry,” Elias mumbles, shifting to sit cross legged on the spot where John eats his breakfast. Usually John makes Elias move his pants-only covered bum from that spot, but John won’t be up for at least half an hour.

“This is Batman and this is Superman,” Elias says, pushing the action figures onto the paper sitting in front of Sherlock. “Say hi, Daddy.”

Sherlock sighs. “Hello Batman and Superman.”

“Hi, Daddy.” Elias says, making his voice deep. “Now, which one do you like more?”

“I like whichever one is polite enough to let me work.”

Elias frowns and takes the toys back. “Okay…”

Sherlock sighs again. “Okay, fine.”

Elias grins. “Pick your favorite.”

Sherlock presses his hands together and holds them beneath his chin. “Well,” he says, “Bats have many exceptional qualities. They fly, of course. There’s the super-sonic hearing. Some drink the blood of other animals.”

Elias slides Superman towards Sherlock. “But Superman…”

“Well,” Sherlock considers, ”Super, by definition, is something very good. Why don’t you tell me what makes him so _super_.”

“Well,” Elias starts excitedly, “When Superman was a baby, something happened to his mum and dad and he goes to Earth and he got adopted like me!”

Sherlock smiles widely.

Elias continues. “He can fly, he has super speed, he has x-ray vision, he can below ice out of his mouth, and he’s really strong. And he has this beautiful cape!”

Sherlock can tell Superman is Elias’s favorite. He can also tell that in three Minutes when Elias decides Sherlock needs to play superheroes with him, Elias will let Sherlock play whoever Sherlock says is his favorite. And Elias will be disappointed if he has to give up Superman.

“Well,” Sherlock says, “I suppose I like Batman more.”

Elias gives Sherlock a giant smile.

“Will you play with me, Daddy?”

Sherlock was far gone from finishing his work. He knew the second Elias climbed onto the table he’d be playing superheroes. But he can afford half an hour to play until John wakes up and tends to Elias.

“I have an idea,” Sherlock says, standing from his chair. Elias eagerly shifts onto his knees. “Wait right here, okay? Don’t move.”

Elias excitedly nods, bouncing back and forth in the balls of his feet beneath him. Sherlock can’t help the kiss he leaves on the little boy’s forehead before he disappears into the kitchen and down the hall.

John is happily still asleep in their bed with their other baby son, Taylor. Without disturbing the pair, Sherlock tiptoes to the closet where he pulls out a red t-shirt (John’s). He rushes back into the sitting room where Elias is patiently waiting on the desk.

Sherlock takes scissors from the desk’s drawer and cuts the shirt apart until it’s just the collar and the back of the shirt left. He slips the collar over Elias’s head and adjusts until the back of the shirt is a cape settled down Elias’s back.

“How does it fit?” Sherlock asks.

Elias says nothing, but a second later he jumps down from the desk, the cape flowing behind him. He zooms around the sitting room, hopping on furniture and twirling in fast circles. Sherlock watches him, beaming.

He doesn’t realize Elias is making so much noise until a second later when John is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, sleepily rubbing one swollen eye.

“What—“

“Look, Papa! Daddy made me a cape!” Elias twirls at John’s feet, hitting John in the leg with the red fabric.

“Hey, neat! That’s—“ John slumps and frowns. “That’s my shirt.”

“You never wear that shirt,” Sherlock argues.

“I wore it two days ago.”

Sherlock waves him off and turns to watch Elias instead, a little flurry of red fabric with a mop of black hair.

“Papa?” Elias calls, jumping back and forth across the sofa. “Can you make waffles?”

John scrubs a hand over his face and turns back towards the bedroom. “I guess,” he mutters.

“Yay!” Elias yells, tumbling across the sofa now.

Sherlock laughs and sits back down at his desk while Elias runs around him.


	3. Petra, age 12 (Or The One Where Sherlock High-Fives His Daughter for Breaking a Nose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a threat of sexual assault. Something is done about it though.

**Petra (12)**

Sherlock usually went to Bart’s after dropping the kids at school. With the twins and the new (and last) baby at home with the nanny, Sherlock was usually able to let everything go and focus on the work.

Unless, of course, his phone rings. Most people know not to call him unless it’s an emergency, and most people call John first anyway, but since Sherlock’s job isn’t as important as John’s, the schools have a note to call Sherlock’s mobile first.

He pauses mid-incision when it rings. With a sigh, he rips off one rubber glove and pulls his mobile out.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, this is—“

“Yes, I know. Which of my kids are you calling about?”

“Petra, sir. She was in an altercation with another student.”

Sherlock suppresses a chuckle. “Right, thank you. I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

The secretary hangs up after a swift goodbye, then Sherlock repockets his mobile and rips off the other glove. The spleen he was cutting up will have to wait.

“Molly?” he calls through the lab. “I’ve got to run to the school. I’m going to need another spleen!”

* * *

 

When Sherlock arrives, he finds Petra sitting on a chair in the office, her hands folded patiently on her lap. He grins at her.

“What’d you do?”

Petra opens her mouth to answer, but the headmaster pokes his head out of the office before she can say anything.

“Mr. Holmes, Ms. Watson, this way.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, annoyed that the headmaster doesn’t acknowledge Petra’s two last names.

Sherlock and Petra take a seat across from the headmaster.

“Ms. Watson—“

“Holmes,” Petra says.

The headmaster looks down at the papers on his desk. “It says here your last name is Watson.”

“No, it says right here,” Petra stands to point at her name on the form, “That my last name is Holmes-Watson.”

Sherlock beams at her as she sits back down.

“Yes, very well,” the man sighs. “Ms. Holmes-Watson was caught spewing profanities at another student—“

“I said the exact words he was saying to me.”

Sherlock turns to Petra. “What exactly happened?”

“Yes, Ms. Holmes-Watson, please tell us exactly what happened.”

“First of all, I want to know why a fourteen year old is in my literature class.”

The headmaster rubs his forehead. “That is none of your business, young lady. Go on with your story.”

Petra sighs. “Well, he was saying rude things to my friend. Like, really rude. And I told him to cut it out, and he called me a…”

“A what?” the headmaster asks.

Petra bites her lip. “He called me a cunt. I told him he couldn’t find a cunt if it kicked him in the bollocks.”

Sherlock wants to hug his daughter. He doesn’t care that she used that language, she usually doesn’t, but she was standing up for her friend to an obvious bully.

The headmaster speaks before Sherlock can. “You left out the part where you punched him for no apparent reason.”

Petra’s jaw drops and she nearly jumps out of her seat. “It was not for no reason! He said… he told me…”

The headmaster lifts his eyebrows. Sherlock can tell Petra is bothered by what he said, and she was so bothered that she hit him. He rubs her arm encouraging her to share.

Petra looks at her lap. “He said, ‘You’ll see what my bollocks can do if you don’t shut up.’”

Sherlock turns angry so fast that he sees red. A boy threatened to sexually assault his daughter and she’s the one in trouble for it.

“He didn’t say that he said that,” the headmaster says, obviously not believing her.

“Would he?!” Petra yells.

“I’m sorry, where is this boy?” Sherlock asks, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

“In his class, I presume—“

“And why is my daughter in trouble when a boy two years older than her threatened to sexually assault her?”

“Well, he didn’t—“

“You just heard what I heard, did you not? You’re lucky that for the sake of my daughter I don’t want the police involved.”

“Mr. Holmes—“

“I want that boy away from my daughter at all times. If I hear that he is in the same hallway that she is, the police will be involved.” Sherlock stands and buttons his suit jacket. “Let’s go, Petra.”

Petra shuffles out of her seat and follows Sherlock out the door. They don’t stop when the secretary calls that he needs to sign her out of school, they just march out of the office then out of the school.

They walk down the street in silence. Sherlock is fuming and he knows Petra is probably confused, but he can’t bring himself to speak yet.

A block away from school, he feels her arm slip into his. She snuggles against his bicep, her cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his suit.

This calms him slightly. He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

“Was it a good hit?” Sherlock asks, breaking the silence.

“His nose gushed.”

Sherlock chuckles.

“And my hand hurts.”

“We can get it checked out. I’m glad Papa was showing you how to hit properly, you could’ve broken your hand.”

Petra nods.

“Bart’s then?” Sherlock asks. “I can have Molly check on your hand.”

“Okay…” Petra sighs.

“And I’ve got a spleen waiting for dissection.”

Now Petra smiles. “All right!”


	4. Allison, age 14 (Or The One Where John Compares Teenage Daughters to War)

**Allison (14)**

Where the kitchen still is in 221B, the front door downstairs is not visible, but Allison’s presence is known thought the house. They can hear her bedroom door slam from where they sit at the dining room table.

John sighs. The three little ones and Sherlock stare at him.

Sofia runs upstairs and into the dining room. “Papa,” she announces, “Allison is crying.”

“I know,” John says, heaving himself up. He kisses the top of Sofia’s head and thanks her.

He trots down the stairs and turns into the arched doorway connecting 221B to 220B, the add-on they’d done when they ran out room after kid number three. Now 220B downstairs has the sitting room, the area with giant comfortable couches currently holding two very confused boys.

“I know,” John says before they can tell him that Allison ran in crying.

John races up to the third floor, which is the girl’s floor. He gets to Allison and Sofia’s bedroom door and pauses.

“You’ve been to war,” he whispers to himself. “You were shot. You’ve survived a hell of a lot being partner of Sherlock Holmes. You can handle your teenage daughter.”

With a deep breath, he slowly opens the door.

“Go away!” Allison yells into her pillow.

John quietly shuts the door. “Allis, honey, talk to me please?”

“I don’t want to talk, I want you to go away.”

“I’m not going to go away until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fine, sit here all night.”

John chuckles and goes to his knees by the bed. “I’ve lived with your dad for almost twenty years. I am an expert in petulant babies.”

Allison lifts her head and glares at him. “I’m not a baby.”

John rubs her shoulder. “No, but Dad is.”

Allison lets out a chuckle.

John tugs on her elbow. “Come on. I can try to help.”

Allison rolls onto her back and scoots up into a sitting position. She draws her knees to her chest and John thinks of Sherlock.

“So?” he prompts.

Allison sighs. “So there’s this boy.”

“Oh god.”

“Papa!”

“Sorry, sorry. I just wish we weren’t going to have this conversation until you’re thirty.”

“Oh, but the sex talk when I was ten was okay.”

“I thought we’d kill two birds with one stone! Petra was twelve!”

Allison rubs her eyes. “Jesus, Pop, can we get back to my problem?”

John pats her foot. “Yes, go on. What about the boy? How old is he? Does he smoke or have a motorcycle?”

“Oh my god, never mind.”

“These are things a father needs to know!”

“He doesn’t smoke or have a motorcycle, he’s thirteen!”

“He’s…” John stares at his daughter. “Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

“I’m only fourteen and he’ll be fourteen soon!” Allison shouts. John’s sure they hear that next door.

“Ok…”

Allison goes on with her story. “He’s on my club team. He’s cool and nice and we talk a lot.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well… today after practice, he told me he likes me.”

John’s eyebrows tilt up, and Allison buries her face in her hands.

“So what did you do?” John asks.

Muffled by her hands, Allison mutters, “I kicked him in the shin.”

John’s head drops to hang between his arms and he begins to chuckle. What starts as small giggles turns into uncontrollable laughs.

Allison kicks his arm. “Papa, it’s not funny!” she cries, but she’s laughing too.

“Why would that be a normal response?!” John asks, wiping his eyes from tears.

“I don’t know!”

John stands to sit on the bed and pulls Allison to his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. And now is, like… the ultimate test.”

“How?”

“If he keeps talking to you, you know he must really like you.”

“And if he stops talking to me?”

“Then you probably deserve it for kicking him in the shin.”

Allison sits up abruptly and punches at John’s arm. John shields himself and stands from the bed.

“Come on, let’s tell your Dad what you did.”

“No! Don’t tell anyone!”

John quickly leaves the room, Allison chasing him and begging him not to tell anyone as they go.

When they get downstairs, Elias and Taylor are still sitting on the sofa. John pauses in front of them and asks Elias what a girl did the first time he told one that he liked her.

“She kissed my cheek,” Elias proudly replies.

Allison rolls her eyes. “She was probably stupid,” she mutters, then exits the room to go up to the kitchen.

John just laughs and follows.

Allison does tell Sherlock what happened, in front of her horrified little brothers. They both vow to never tell girls they like them, which makes everyone laugh.

* * *

 

The next day, Allison informs John that the boy did speak to her again and that she apologized. Then she asks if he can come over for dinner, but right after she asks, Sherlock makes pasta blow up in the kitchen. John says maybe another time.

 


	5. The One Where They Get Engaged

When they were told to go to their room and put on their best suits, John and Sherlock didn’t expect to return to the sitting room for a wedding. Sofia, dressed in her best white dress she got for her adoption signing day last year, is officiating, while Elias is John’s best man and Petra Sherlock’s, and Taylor and Allison are ring bearer and flower girl. Nico and Cole are quietly playing with Wiley away from everyone else.

Finally, the fake ceremony ends and Sofia snaps the book (not the Bible, but instead Elias’s math book) closed and proudly announces, “I now pronounce you husband and husband. Daddy, you may now kiss Papa.”

Sherlock grins and pulls John by the back of his head into a kiss, and cheers turn into gagging noises.

They break apart after a second or two, then Sofia climbs onto Sherlock’s lap and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Was this your idea?” Sherlock asks her.

She happily nods.

“Are you and Dad married?” Allison asks John.

John opens his mouth to answer, but Elias beats him to it.

“Of course they’re married, stupid.”

John flicks Elias in the shin. “Don’t call her stupid.”

Elias mutters an apology.

“They’re not married,” Petra adds next.

Sherlock turns to her. “How do you know?”

“I know how,” Taylor says.

“Me too,” Sofia adds.

Sherlock smiles at his children. “Raise your hand if you have an idea proving that Papa and I aren’t married.”

Petra, Taylor, and Sofia raise their hands.

Sherlock looks down at Sofia, whose head is resting on his shoulder. “And what do you think, my love?”

“No rings,” she says, tracing the spot on Sherlock’s finger where a ring would rest.

“Maybe they just don’t like rings,” Elias offers.

Sofia shakes her head. “People wear rings.”

Sherlock grins proudly at John.

“Me next!” Taylor cries. Everyone looks at him, and he says, “Their last names aren’t Holmes-Watson like ours.”

Allison interjects. “People don’t have to change their last names when they’re married.”

“Good point,” John tells her.

“But they would,” Taylor says.

Sherlock ruffles his hair.

“Ok, now me,” Petra announces. “And I can say if they weren’t married when I was five, they aren’t married now.”

John and Sherlock both laugh.

Sherlock answers her theory. “Excellent point, Petra. Far less creative than these two, but you are correct.”

“Why aren’t you married?” Sofia asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know.”

John glances at the wall clock before the discussion can continue. “Ok, we’ve got to go to dinner. Coats everyone.”

The kids file upstairs for shoes and coats while John and Sherlock tend to the younger children.

* * *

 

Sherlock gets to thinking. Honestly, they’ve just been way too busy over the past ten years to get married, what with their collection of children. He loves John, and they know themselves that they’ll be together forever, but… Sherlock gets to thinking that he wants to make it official.

He confides in Petra first. Sherlock usually goes to her first with things. She’s technically not the oldest because Elias’ birthday is two months before hers, but Elias can’t keep a secret to save his life.

Petra is thrilled, even though her first response is, “It’s about damn time, Dad.”

They hatch a plan of Sherlock’s proposal, which includes the children (under supervision of the nanny) cooking them dinner.

He takes Petra ring shopping, and she helps to pick out a black band for John. It’s beautiful and they’re sure John will like it, so a month later they carry out the plan.

* * *

 

John gets home from the clinic around five in the evening, like he usually does. There are no lights on, but John can see the glow from the kitchen and dining room from downstairs. As he’s shedding his coat to hang it in the hall closet, he hears footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“Oh, hi Papa,” Sofia greets him. She’s wearing one of her nice dresses and her hair is curled beautifully. John momentarily wonders why she’s dressed so nice and where everyone is, but before he can ask, she holds her hand out. “Right this way, Papa.”

John laughs and takes her hand.

The dining table is set for two, complete with candles and wine glasses. The kitchen doors are shut, but John can hear rustling beyond.

“Have a seat, Papa. Daddy will be with you in a moment.”

John sits. “Can I at least go change for the evening?”

Sofia shakes her head, then skips away through the kitchen door.

Sherlock arrives a minute later. He’s dressed beautifully, and John smells like a stale office. He longs for a quick shower, maybe the shave he’d skipped this morning, but his daughter already said no.

Sherlock sweeps down for a greeting kiss. It’s short and sweet, but better than anything they ever get. They never have privacy.

“Good evening,” he says, sitting cattycorner to John.

John smiles at him. “What’s all this, then?”

Sherlock shrugs. “The children thought we needed a date night.”

John eyes his wine glass. He’s about to ask if he can get it, but Taylor enters the room at that moment. He’s holding a blank jug.

“Good evening, my name is Taylor and I will be one of your servers.”

John laughs. “ _One_ of our servers?”

“It’s not my fault you have too many kids,” Taylor mutters, reaching for John’s wine glass. He can’t reach, so John hands it to him. When he fills John and Sherlock’s glasses, he sets the jug down and informs them that the appetizers will be served soon.

Once he’s out of the room, John and Sherlock reach for their glasses at the same time. They take a swig and make the same sour face.

“Is this grape juice mixed with apple juice?” John asks.

“This is the last time I let them shop alone.”

John laughs. “I was hoping for real wine.”

Sherlock stands suddenly and goes to the book shelf, where there’s an almost empty flask of whiskey tucked between two books. He unscrews the cap and takes a drink, then hands it to John. The burn feels delightful and is much needed, and they giggle to each other silently. They haven’t snuck a drink in some time.

John’s about to take another drink, but Allison enters with a tray.

“Here is your appetizer,” she says, setting it between them. “Enjoy.”

She leaves quickly. John and Sherlock examine the plate between them.

“Uhm…”

Sherlock picks one up. It’s taken many years, but he’s gotten used to not eating caviar and oysters, but instead cherry tomatoes and baby carrots.

“Well…” John mutters.

Sherlock picks up a tomato and pops it into his mouth. “At least they’re tasty.”

John begins to eat them, too. They eat and talk about their day. John talks about the clinic and Sherlock tells John that he took the twins to Bart’s with him. John disapproves, but Sherlock says they were perfectly behaved.

“Their behavior isn’t what I’m worried about, Sherlock. Not when you’re a table over cutting stuff open.”

“They didn’t notice. They were busy. And they’re three, what can they know about dead bodies?”

John shakes his head. “Just make sure they don’t see too much, please?”

Sherlock nods and sips his juice, then grimaces. John laughs.

The main course is served by Sofia and Taylor a second later. They each have a plate that they place in front of their dads.

“I’m seriously never going to trust our children with anything ever again,” Sherlock says when they leave.

John stares at his triangles of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “How long did they spend preparing this meal?”

“All day.”

John laughs. “Well, this is what the natives eat.”

Sherlock chuckles, then he begins to eat.

When their sandwiches are gone and their bellies are somewhat full, Taylor returns with the jug of wretched juice and Sofia arrives with dessert.

“Elias made this all by himself,” she informs them, placing two bowls of chocolate pudding in front of them. They eye it suspiciously and she giggles at them. “It’s good, I promise.”

They thank her and she leaves the room, then they dig in, agreeing that it is good.

After dessert and two more drinks of the whiskey, Sherlock begins to get nervous. He’s never proposed before. What if John actually says no? Should he mess up what they already have?

Before he can sack the whole thing, Elias pokes his head out of the kitchen door.

“Have you done it?” he asks.

Sherlock glares at him.

“Done what?” John asks.

“Oh, uhm, nothing!” Elias calls as he slams the door shut.

“Done what, Sherlock?” John asks, and Sherlock can tell he is genuinely confused.

“I…” Sherlock gets so scared that he can’t speak, so he quickly stands and rushes into the kitchen.

“Well?!” they all demand. Even the nanny looks concerned.

“I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?!” Petra cries.

“You don’t know how scary it is!” Sherlock replies.

She rolls her eyes and motions for the door. “Good god, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t do it!” Sofia cries, raising her voice for the first time while living in 221B. “Daddy has to! Papa doesn’t want to marry _you_!”

Sherlock and the other children stare at her. She gives them all a bright, innocent smile.

“You can do it, Dad,” Taylor says.

“Just take a deep breath,” Allison tells him.

Sherlock does as he’s told. “Okay,” he says. “I will be back.”

Sofia grabs his hand before he can exit the kitchen. She tugs him down so she can press a kiss to his cheek. Then, each of the kids give Sherlock a kiss. Finally, he opens the kitchen door and feels three sets of hands push him out the door.

John laughs as Sherlock stumbles back into the room. “What was that?”

“Oh…nothing.”

Sherlock rejoins John at the table. He clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly they hear shouting from beyond the kitchen door. John motions to stand, but Sherlock places a hand on his arm.

As Sherlock rises, Taylor runs out of the room. “Daddy, Petra stole this from your pocket!” He hands John the box that holds John’s ring.

Sherlock sighs and rubs his eyes. “Thank you, son.”

“Sh…Sher…” John mutters. Sherlock opens his eyes to look at John, who has a very shocked expression on his face. He’s staring at the box with wide eyes. “What is that?”

“It’s a ring!” Taylor announces.

Sherlock lightly pushes him towards the kitchen. “Yes, _thank you._ ”

Taylor happily leaves and John still stares at the object in Sherlock’s hand like it’s going to explode.

Sherlock shifts to the edge of his seat, ready to drop to one knee.

“Honestly,” he says, nervously stuttering a bit. “I don’t know why I haven’t done this before. I guess…I’ve been distracted.”

“Distracted?” John questions. “I thought you didn’t want to!”

“John, if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you, do you think we’d have _eight_ kids?”

John shrugs and a grin spreads across his face. “I thought we’d get rid of them once they turned thirteen.”

A simultaneous “Hey!” is heard from the oldest two children, who will both be thirteen in short months.

John and Sherlock laugh.

They calm after a minute and John wipes an eye. “Geez, Sherlock. I don’t even know what to say.”

“I fear if you don’t say yes, Sofia will kill us.”

Sherlock opens the box and delicately pulls out the ring.

John holds his hand up. “You haven’t yet asked a question.”

Sherlock chuckles as he slips the band onto John’s finger. “John Watson, father of my eight children –who are not allowed to make dinner again, I might add—“

John interrupts with laughter. Sherlock shuts him up by kissing him quickly.

Then, “Will you marry me?” he whispers against John’s lips.

“Yes,” John replies, sealing it with another slow kiss.

Their kiss progresses uninterrupted, until two minutes later when Elias calls through the door, “Dad, what’d he say?!”

“Of course he said yes, you idiot!” Allison yells back at him.

Sherlock pulls away laughing. “Alright, get in here!”

Seven of the eight enter. They all shower John and Sherlock with hugs and kisses.

“Can I be invited to the wedding?” little Nico asks.

John laughs and pulls the three-year-old onto his lap. “Of course.”

“Can we wear dresses?” Sofia asks.

“You can wear whatever you want,” Sherlock tells her.

“My Arsenal kit?” Allison asks.

“Not your Arsenal kit,” John says.

Cole climbs onto Sherlock’s lap and begins to pick at leftover appetizer. Sherlock kisses his hair.

“I love you,” John says to Sherlock over the twins.

“Love you too,” Nico says before Sherlock can, which makes them laugh.

 

 


	6. Taylor, age 8 (Or The First Time One of the Kids is Hurt)

**Taylor, age 8**

* * *

 

Sherlock and John have always been thankful that their children are good judges of character. This meant that when the children were invited to birthday parties (and usually if one was invited, they all were), John and Sherlock were usually more than happy to attend the children parties.

It’s Taylor’s best friend Hope’s birthday, and Sherlock volunteers to go with the children. Partly because John has to work, and partly because Sherlock always has fascinating conversations with the other dads in this friend circle.

For her birthday Hope asked for a trampoline, which of course was the hit of the party. Sherlock’s five children in attendance had never played on a trampoline before, and after being reassured that it was safe by Hope’s mother, he said the children could play on it.

All of the kids at the party took turns on the trampoline; they were told only four people could be on it at once and they obeyed that rule. They played for hours, they even played around Sofia nearly throwing up on it.

Sherlock went outside where the kids were and announced they had twenty minutes before they were going to leave. Of course the kids moaned and groaned, but they did agree. Sherlock turned his back to return inside the house, noting that once Taylor is finished on the trampoline they’d leave.

Five minutes later, Sherlock is sitting inside with the other dads when they hear a scream as if someone’s been murdered. Recognizing it as a little girl’s scream, all of the dads jump up to run outside. Sherlock is the last one out, because he assumes the problem is on the trampoline and none of his daughters were on it.

As soon as he steps outside, Allison runs at him. She’s in tears, crying uncontrollably.

“Daddy!” she cries, and immediately Sherlock knows it’s Taylor who must be hurt.

Sherlock runs to the trampoline, not having to push anyone aside because each of the parents make room for him. Finally, he sees Taylor laying on the trampoline, his arm bent awkwardly, and a much bigger boy above Taylor, babbling about ‘it being an accident’.

Sherlock can instantly tell what happened. The other boy bounced Taylor too high, Taylor panicked and held his arm out beneath him to catch himself, but his elbow snapped as a result.

Sherlock climbs onto the trampoline and he can hear a mother calling an ambulance. Another parent tries to herd the children away from seeing the horrific scene before them, and someone else gets the bigger boy off the trampoline.

Taylor is staring at the sky and his body is still. Sherlock doesn’t know if he should move Taylor should there be any bigger injuries.

“How bad does it hurt?” Sherlock asks, brushing Taylor’s hair out of his eyes.

“It doesn’t,” Taylor says.

Sherlock knows he’s probably in shock and the pain will hit him when he actually sees the break. Instead of letting that happen, Sherlock asks someone to bring him a blanket.

“Dad, I can get up,” Taylor says, motioning to sit up.

Sherlock holds him down, unsure of what to do. A woman returns with a thick blanket, so Sherlock wraps his arm. Then, with help from all of the other dads, they get Taylor off the trampoline.

The ambulance arrives and they load Taylor. The party hosts offer to keep the other four children until John gets off work, which will be in less than an hour. With that, Sherlock climbs into the ambulance after his son.

Sherlock is scared because of how scared Taylor looks. They hook him to an oxygen tube when he starts to breath heavily, then they stick him with an IV when he says it’s starting to hurt. Sherlock holds his good hand and kisses his forehead when he takes the needle well.

They arrive at the hospital and Taylor is taken to surgery almost immediately. Sherlock realizes he needs to call John, so he fumbles with his phone and dials.

“Hey love, how’s the party?”

“John, I’m at the hospital. Taylor’s hurt, his arm… it’s… they took him into surgery already. I—“

“Sherlock, Sherlock, calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me which hospital.”

Sherlock tells him, then blurts, “The other children are still at the party, I had to come…I just left them, I’m sorry John.”

“I’ll call Hannah, don’t worry. She will pick them up. I will be at the hospital in ten minutes.”

John hangs up, so Sherlock pockets his phone and nervously runs a hand through his hair. None of the children have ever been hurt before. None of them have required surgery. He didn’t know it could be this scary.

John does arrive ten minutes later, running into the waiting room and lunging at Sherlock immediately.

“I’m so sorry John, I should’ve been watching them, it’s my fault…”

“Ssshhh…” John rubs his back. “It was an accident, I know. Accidents happen. He’ll be okay.”

“He needs surgery, John!” Sherlock cries.

John holds him at arm’s length. “He will be okay.”

Sherlock slowly nods. John kisses his cheek.

They wait in the tiny room for two hours before a surgeon finally comes in.

“Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson. We’ve reconstructed Taylor’s elbow and put pins in to keep it in place. It’ll recover well, but he’ll need physical therapy for it when the time comes. He’s asleep now, but you can go in.”

Sherlock sighs relief and John comfortingly pats his shoulder.

“Thank you, Doctor,” John says, shaking his hand.

They go into the room where Taylor is asleep on the bed with his arm in a splint in the air. John goes to the bed right away, kissing the sleeping boy’s head then examining the surgical lines himself.

Sherlock hangs back, feeling guilty. He should’ve prevented this.

“There’s no way you could have,” John says.

Sherlock looks at him. “What?”

“You’re thinking that you should have prevented this. You couldn’t have.”

“I could have tried.”

“It was an accident,” John says again. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But why Taylor?”

John shrugs. “I don’t know. Just please stop punishing yourself.”

Sherlock still frowns, so John takes him in a tight hug.

“You did everything right.”

Sherlock nods.

There’s stirring from the bed, but they don’t notice right away.

“Dad?” Taylor asks, finally getting their attention.

Sherlock practically shoves John away and rushes to the bed. “I’m here,” he says. “Are you in pain? Do you need something?”

Taylor frowns. “I didn’t get any birthday cake.”

John laughs, but Sherlock is slower catching on. Finally, realizing his son will be fine, he lets out a breath he couldn’t take for the last two and a half hours and smiles.

 


	7. Sofia, age 5 (Or the One Where They Meet Their Third Daughter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In chapter one, I may have said Sofia was seven when she was found, but my math was all wrong. She'd be five.

**Sofia, age 5**

* * *

 

This wasn’t John and Sherlock’s first murder scene, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last, but it was by far the most horrific ordeal they’d ever seen.

Dozens of women were smuggled into the outskirts of London from various parts of Europe: Spain, Italy, Ireland, etc. All of the woman ranged in age and body type, but they were all beautiful. The bodies were terribly malnourished and dirty, and they all lay massacred in a pool of their own blood.

The warehouse is a mess. John, war survivor, walked in and immediately threw up. Sherlock’s pale skin grows a greenish tinge. Everyone is somber; Anderson and Donovan said nothing to Sherlock. Sherlock even thanked them for the tools they provided him.

Sherlock walks the entire perimeter of the room to find any inkling of a clue. There’s nothing, not even a leftover bullet. But whoever did it enjoyed themselves too much, judging by how some of the bodies were taken apart.

As Sherlock makes his way back to the entrance where John is waiting just outside, when he finally notices a little something.

It is a footprint, a very tiny footprint. He shines the light on it and notices another, the second less prominent. Obviously the child only stepped in a small amount of blood, so Sherlock’s immediate thought is to hope the child saw just one murder, not the entire massacre. His stomach turns at the thought, his head shifting to his own four children tucked away at home, safely asleep.

There are three partial footprints in a line, but they disappear before there is any distinct direction to go. Sherlock can’t decide if he hopes the child was snatched or not, but in case they’re still in the building, he has to check.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Lestrade calls.

Sherlock waves him back. “Nothing. Hang back, I’m okay.”

Sherlock wanders down a hallway towards the office part of the warehouse. This area was obviously used as sleeping quarters because there are mattresses thrown on the dirty floors. It smells terrible in the rooms, and Sherlock’s stomach jolts.

He decides to call out for another person. He starts in English, but then he tries other languages that the women were identified as.

Finally, he hears a faint, “Hola?”

Sherlock rushes to the source of the voice, and finally in the last door he finds her huddled in a corner. The little girl can’t be more than four years old, judging by her size. Her skin is light from lack of sun, everything about her was dirty. Her front is covered in blood, and Sherlock can tell she hugged her mother right after her mother was stabbed or shot.

He drops to his knees in front of the tiny girl.

“Mi nombre es Sherlock.”

“Sofia Bella,” the girl sniffles out. More tears stream down her blood stained cheeks. Sherlock wants to wipe them away, but he isn’t sure if he should touch her.

“Promento que son seguros ,” Sherlock tells her, hoping his promise of her safety is true. “Puedas venir conmigo?” he asks, holding his hand out and hoping she will take it.

Sofia hesitantly reaches out, but right then her eyes snap to the door. Sherlock can hear footsteps rushing through the hall, then they here a loud shout of, “Sherlock!” It’s Lestrade’s angry tone.

Sofia sobs and jumps into Sherlock’s arms, and Sherlock instantly wraps his arms around her little body. He whispers eased words at her, but she shakes roughly.

“Sherlock, what the—“ Lestrade runs into the room, but he pauses when he spots them. “What the hell?”

“This is Sofia Bella,” Sherlock tells him. “She’s Spanish.”

“Jesus, well spotted…” Lestrade mutters before sounding onto his radio and calling for backup.

Sofia doesn’t let Sherlock go, but Sherlock gets permission to carry her through the crime scene with her face tucked into his scarf. As if sensing their exit, or passing her mother, Sofia whispers, “Adiós Madre. Este hombre se hará cargo de mí.”

Sherlock’s heart breaks and he does inwardly vow to take care of this little girl.

He rides in the ambulance with her, holding her hand and translating when needed. He knows she’s deathly afraid, but he is able to explain to her that the IV needle is to help her. He finds out that she is actually five years old and she was abducted with her mother two years ago, which explains that she practically stopped growing because she's been malnourished for years.

At the hospital, she cries and begs the nurse to let Sherlock bathe her.

“I don’t think that’s really…” the nurse starts.

“I have two daughters,” Sherlock offers. “Just stay here, but she really is afraid.”

The nurse nods. “Okay, but if anyone asks, I bathed her.”

He gives the nurse a little smile, which she returns, and he gets the little girl into the shower.

When she’s in fresher clothes and back onto a hospital bed, Lestrade arrives. Sofia tightens her grip on Sherlock’s arm, but he reminds her that Lestrade is nice. She eases just a bit.

“Where’s John?” Sherlock asks.

“He went home. He told me to tell you that the sitter called and Taylor has a fever.”

Sherlock frowns deeply.

“Listen,” Lestrade says, “I can find someone else who can translate if you want to—“ he motions towards the door, which obviously gives Sofia the idea that Sherlock is leaving. She tightens her grip on his arm again.

“No, John can manage.”

Lestrade nods. “Right, well, I know this is tough but I’ve got to ask her the questions now.”

Sherlock nods back and looks down at Sofia, then explains to her that the nice officer needs to ask some questions, and that she needs to try very hard to remember everything she can. Her little head bobs up and down, then she curiously looks at Lestrade.

An hour later, they know what the captors look like and what their voices sound like. Sofia, spending so much time with them, remembers every little detail from their crooked teeth to tattoos to shapes of their eyebrows. She tells them that many women came last year, and more children, but none of the children stayed. She said it was because the head of the organization liked her best. There was a painful moment when Lestade needed to ask if he abused her in any way, but she says he didn’t. Sofia snuggles into Sherlock’s arms anyway.

Lestrade leaves when the sun starts peeking through the window, and Sofia yawns widely. She burrows into the bed and shuts her eyes before Lestrade even says goodbye.

Sherlock beams at her.

“Can’t take this one home too, Sherlock.”

“Why can’t I?”

“You two should get a hobby. A pet maybe. Stop collecting orphans.”

“When we stop finding the most extraordinary children, we might stop.”

Lestrade laughs. “Just joking, mate. Tell the little buggers hello.”

“Will do,” Sherlock mutters, now stroking Sofia’s soft hair as she falls asleep.

Her adoption takes seven months to complete, but in that time she lives with them under foster care. The other four children love her and she loves them.

A year after their unfortunate meeting and five months after her adoption, Sherlock is with Sofia in the loo after her bath.

“I didn’t have a dad before,” she says suddenly, her Spanish accent still thick but her English improving.

“No?” Sherlock asks. It’s not anything they’d discussed before. He liked asking Sofia about the few things she remembered about Spain, but he never wants it to be too painful.

“No. But mi Madre, she told me stories of him. He was tall and beautiful and had black hair and pretty eyes and he was smart and funny and he saved people.”

Sherlock pauses in towel drying her hair to really listen to her. “Oh?”

“She said he was special. And he was sent to her from God to save her.”

Sherlock wants to ask questions, but he can tell Sofia isn’t finished.

“I think God said for you to be my dad always,” she says, her eyebrows twisted in frustration from not saying the right words.

Sherlock swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “I… yes, I think so.”

Sofia wraps her arms around his neck. The water from her hair drops into his expensive shirt and he doesn’t care whatsoever. He squeezes her as tight as he can without hurting her.

“Te amo, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Sofia,” he easily says back.


	8. Nico, age 9 (Or the One Where Sherlock Buys Makeup)

**Nico, age 9**

* * *

  
  
Sherlock wanders down the hall to the kid's first story bathroom, the one shared by Nico, Cole, Taylor, and Elias. He barges in without knocking, because he thought all of the kids were in their bedrooms studying (like they should be right after school each day), but when he opens the door, he pauses in shock.  


Nico hops back so quickly that he almost falls off the step stool he's on. His eyes widen in shock and his jaw drops; on his lips is a cheap shade of coral lipstick and on his cheeks are a bright pink tinge of blush.

  
"Daddy, I can--"

  
Sherlock stops him, needing no explanation. One glance at the half used makeup is explanation enough.  
  
He asks anyway, just to be sure. "Where did you get that?"

  
"From...from Abbey. She took it from her mum and...and gave it to me."

  
Sherlock takes the makeup off the counter and tosses it in the bin. Then, forgetting all afternoon tasks, he takes Nico's hand and guides him out of the room.

  
They exit the house without saying a word, and nobody notices them leave. Nico looks about ready to cry, clearly unsure of what Sherlock is doing, but Sherlock says nothing. He just keeps a hand in his son's as they walk down the block.

  
In five minutes they're at the nearest drug store, where Sherlock pulls the boy in and through the isles to the brightest isle in the store: the makeup isle.

  
"Dad, what are we--"

  
Sherlock stops in front of the lipstick. "That shade was awful for your skin tone, son. With your dark skin, you need something dark. Now, I personally recommend red, but a purple or even reddish-brown will suit you nicely."

  
Nico stares at Sherlock. "What?"

  
"And blush. That pink was much too harsh and dated. We'll get this one." Sherlock plucks one off the shelf and hands it to Nico.

  
"Dad...you...you can't be serious."

  
"Why can't I?"

  
"Because...because other dads..."

  
"Other dads don't let their sons be whoever they want to be. I'm letting you. But don't tell your sisters that I'm buying you makeup."

"Why not?"

  
"Because I don't want Petra to wear makeup yet."

  
Nico laughs. "Are you serious, Dad?"

  
Sherlock nods.

  
Nico attacks him in a hug. "Thank you."

  
Sherlock bends to kiss Nico's head. "Now, let's talk eye shadow."

 

* * *

 

  
When they get home, they return to the bathroom and Sherlock sits Nico on the sink to show him how to apply it all.

  
"Just a light coating, see? Barely dust it."

  
Nico extends his neck to give Sherlock better access to his cheek. "How do you know about all of this, Dad?"

  
"Because...well, I liked all of this stuff, too."  


"Really?"  


"Yeah. It made me feel...good. Just good. Does it make you feel good?"  


"Yes. Who taught you how to do this?"  


"Close your eyes," Sherlock says, picking up the eyeshadow. "My mother. She'd let me wear lipstick when my father wasn't home."  


"Would he be upset?"  


"Yes," Sherlock says, remembering the only time his father saw him wearing lipstick was one of the worst days of his life.  


"I'm sorry."  


"It's not your fault," Sherlock says. Nico gives him a little smile. Sherlock smiles back.  


"You don't have to hide it from me," Sherlock tells him, now combing his hair to the side to make it less disheveled. "If you want to wear makeup, go head. In moderation, that is. I can't let you if I don't let your sisters."

  
Nico chuckles. "Ok, Dad."  


"And wear whatever clothes you want."  


"Even Allison's skinny jeans?"  


"Maybe I'll get you your own skinny jeans."  


Nico laughs. "Okay."

  
"Just talk to me, alright? And Papa. We're here to listen to you."  


Nico nods.  


"Now, should we go show him?"  


"He won't be mad?"  


"Of course not."  


"Are you sure?"  


"I promise, he won't be mad."

  
Nico takes a deep breath, then nods.  


Sherlock helps him off the counter, then they walk out of the bathroom together.

* * *

 

They find everyone in the kitchen, where they're fighting over what to get on their pizzas.  


"Hey," John says, addressing Sherlock. "I wondered where you two had gone off to. We're getting pizza, what do you--" John finally glances at Nico and pauses. "What's this?"  


Nico bursts into tears and turns to Sherlock. "You promised he wouldn't be mad!"  


"Hey, hey!" John cries, rushing to Nico. "I'm not mad! I'm really not!"

  
Nico's breath catches as he tries to talk. "You're not?"  


"No, of course not! That...that came out wrong, I'm sorry." John wipes a tear from Nico's cheek. "Did Daddy get the waterproof mascara?"  


"Of course," Sherlock answers.  


John smiles. "That's good," he says. He runs a hand through Nico’s hair. "You look lovely, son. Breathtaking."

  
Nico looks at John with tears still in his eyes. "Really?"  


"Yes. Though, I think the red lipstick is a bit too grown up for you. Maybe a lighter shade?"  


"Dad said it matches my skin tone."  


John chuckles. "Yeah, it does. It looks great."

  
Nico sighs relief. "Thanks, Papa.”

  
John smiles, then Nico kisses his cheek, leaving a big red lip stain.  


"Hey, I did the makeup."

  
Nico starts to laugh as he turns to Sherlock, where he pulls his Dad down for a kiss on the cheek, too.  


"I want one!" all of the kids cry next, then they take turns letting Nico leave red lips on their cheek.  


"Can I borrow your lipstick?" Sherlock hears Petra ask.  


"How do you get eye makeup even like that?" Elias asks.  


"I think that shade of eyeshadow brings out the green in your eyes," Allison says.  


"Cole, let me put some on you!" Sofia cries.  


"No!" Cole shouts back.  


Sherlock and John sneak off into the hall while their kids argue about who gets to try the makeup next.  


"You did all that?" John asks Sherlock.  


Sherlock nods. "He had cheap half used stuff a girl stole from her mum. I couldn't let him have that."  


John laughs. "I fear my first impression was terrible."  


"It was, but obviously he forgives you."  


"Yeah. I just want him to be comfortable."  


"He will be, with us as parents. Can't ask for more 'understanding of things different’ parents."  


John smiles. "We're the lucky ones."  


"Yeah," Sherlock sighs, peaking into the kitchen to see Petra and Allison holding down Cole to get lipstick on him. "We are."  


Elias spots them peeking around the corner. "Pop, I thought you were going to order pizza?!"  


John rolls his eyes and they wander back into the kitchen. "Nobody decided what to have on them!"  


An eruption of shouts start, each kid asking for a different topping. John and Sherlock just smile at each other, then start taking orders.


	9. Cole, age 11 (Or The One Where One of the Kids is Bullied)

**Cole (11)**

* * *

 

John skids through the halls of the school looking for Cole. Nico said he was still inside but didn’t know where, so John is running around blindly.

Finally, he double takes down a hall, spotting a figure huddled on the floor against the wall. John sighs, knowing it’s Cole by his jacket, and runs to him.

“Cole, buddy, where’ve you been, mate?” John kneels in front of Cole and touches his knees.

Cole sniffles and looks up at John. His glasses are foggy from tears and his cheeks are stained and red. “I don’t want to be Cole anymore.”

John frowns. “Why not?”

“Cole is a loser, he’s ugly and lame and has no friends.”

John laughs because of how ridiculous it sounds. Realizing that’s the wrong reaction, he sombers and rubs Cole’s knee.

“Cole is anything but lame. Cole is…I love him more than anything.”

Cole starts to cry again. He sits up and wraps his arms around John’s neck, so tight that John can’t breathe. Cole cries into his shoulder and John kisses his head.

“Let’s go home,” John whispers, pulling Cole to his feet and walking him out of the school.

* * *

 

John manages to calm Cole at home, but all evening he was off. He seemed so unhappy and it hurt John so much to see his son hurting.

Later that night, before bed, Cole enters John and Sherlock’s room where they were reading with Wiley. Cole hesitantly entered the room and looked nervous.

“What is it, son?” John asks.

“I just…I was wondering if I could call Mia.”

John and Sherlock exchanged a glance. They’ve never said no if one of their children wanted to talk to or visit a biological parent. But Cole hadn’t asked in such a long time that this comes as a shock.

“Uh… why?” John asks.

Cole sighs. “Never mind, it was a dumb idea. She wouldn’t want to talk to me anyways.”

“Hey,” John stops him before he can exit the room. “That’s not what I meant. You just haven’t wanted to call her in some time.”

“I know. I just want to, that’s all.”

John turns back to Sherlock, who silently nods, then John grabs his mobile and finds Mia’s number. He hears Sherlock ask Wiley to go read to Petra, then he clicks send and hands the phone to Cole.

The phone volume is so loud that they can hear Mia, so they eavesdrop without meaning to.

“Hi, Baby!” Mia answered, her Greek accent tinged with sleep. She’s two hours ahead of them.

“Hey Mia,” Cole says, trying not to smile.

“How are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just…I had a bad day and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Aww, well thank you for calling. Tell me about your day.”

Cole spends the next five minutes explaining to her what happened at school, glancing at John and Sherlock as he speaks. He tells Mia that some kids at school were picking on him for being adopted by two gay men, and telling him his mum didn’t want him.

“Was that true, Mia?” he asks shakily. “Did you not want me?”

“No, baby! Of course that isn’t true. Of course not. I just…I wasn’t fit to take care of you. I was ill, and I had to return to Greece. But luckily, John and Sherlock found us and promised me they’d take care of you and Nico. And they’re doing a great job, aren’t they?”

Cole looks at John and Sherlock and smiles. “Yeah.”

“Don’t listen to the bullies at school. I love you, John and Sherlock love you, your brothers and sisters love you. You’re lucky, baby.”

“I am,” he mutters.

“Now,” Mia starts next, “Tell me what you want for your birthday.”

Cole talks to Mia for another half an hour, then takes the phone to Nico for another half an hour. By the time it’s late enough that John has to end the call, Cole is almost asleep in their bed.

“Hey mate,” John whispers to him as he strokes Cole’s hair. “Can we talk for a second?”

Cole nods and sits up, adjusting his glasses as he does.

“Don’t listen to those kids at school, okay? They’re bullies, and if you tell me who they are, I’ll go to the headmaster.”

Cole nods.

“I do love you. And Dad loves you. Alright?”

“I know, Papa.”

John leans over and kisses Cole’s head, then he hugs the boy tight. Apparently they hug for a lot longer than John thought because Cole slowly drifts to sleep in his arms. Glad that Cole is small for his age, John carries him through the flat and to his bed.

 


	10. Wiley, age 2 (Or When Sherlock Offers a Bribe)

**Wiley (2)**

* * *

 

“Come on honey,” Sherlock gently encourages, “You can do it.”

The two year old blankly stares back at him. She often has this look on her face, this absentminded gleam in her eye, but Sherlock stopped asking what she’s thinking about. She’s probably thinking about his head spontaneously combustion for making her sit on that stupid potty for twenty minutes.

“When you go, we can leave this room and you won’t have to return with me again.” John will be home soon. John can deal with this.

Wiley twirls a strand of her hair with two fingers. She still says nothing.

Sherlock’s mind begins to race, too. He thinks about the experiment in the (basement turned) lab, he thinks about the severed pinkies he’s got to pick up from Bart’s, he thinks about the ring fingers he’s already got in the freezer downstairs, he wonders if Lestrade is intentionally keeping cases from him because things have been very slow lately, and he remembers that it’s his turn to make dinner.

Then it all comes to a halting stop when he briefly wonders how his life went from worrying about severed phalanges to feeding eight kids dinner. Spaghetti is always they easiest choice, but if Nico isn’t eating noodles this week and Allison is eating anything red this week, he may need to find something else.

Perhaps something with rice. He doesn’t think anyone has a rice aversion this week.

Wiley clears her throat. Sherlock looks down at her, and now she’s staring right at him, her expression no longer blank but instead attentive as she can be.

“Done yet?” he asks.

Wiley shakes her head.

Sherlock groans. “Come on, Wi.”

“Come on, Daddy.”

Sherlock cracks a smile. He crosses one leg over the other, getting comfortable for the long haul.

His little girl does the same.

Sherlock sighs and rubs his eyes. “Okay, you know what? If you go, you can have any snack you want.”

Usually John just gives her two chocolate covered raisins for going on the potty, but Sherlock will let her eat a giant bowl of ice cream if she wants.

“Even fudge?”

Ahh, the fudge. The delicious, thick fudge was gift from a client. The family has been picking at it for three weeks. They even had a sheet tacked up in the kitchen to tally each time one of the kids had a piece, to keep it fair. Now the fudge is almost gone and it’s just for John and Sherlock.

Sherlock is torn. Does he want to sacrifice a piece of fudge?

Wiley begins to tap her toes impatiently.

Sherlock checks his watch; the kids will be home in two hours. He wants to get to Bart’s today. He needs to figure out what to make for dinner, which will include a trip to the dreaded grocery store.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Fine, yes, you can have a piece of fudge.”

Wiley grins triumphantly, then uncrossed her legs and goes. Right then, Sherlock’s phone begins to ring. He picks it up and sees that it’s John.

“Hello?” Sherlock answers.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“ _Your_ daughter is very stubborn.”

“How long has she been sitting on the potty?”

“Half an hour.”

John snorts. “That’s nothing. Did she go?”

“Just finished.”

“Well done then, Daddy.”

Sherlock smiles. He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and begins to tend to Wiley. “I don’t remember this being that difficult in the past.”

“We’ve only potty trained boys in the past.”

Sherlock lifts Wiley onto the sink so she can wash her hands. “I didn’t know girls were a huge mystery.”

He doesn’t notice that he poured way too much soap onto the little girl’s hands, but she finds good use for the soap by slapping it onto his face. Sherlock barely closes his eye on time to avoid soap getting in his eye.

“She just slapped soap onto your face, didn’t she?” John asks.

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

“She does it to me.”

Sherlock wipes the soap away while Wiley giggles. “A warning would have been nice. Partners in everything, I thought.”

“And let you slip by unfairly?”

Sherlock lowers the phone to speak to Wiley. “Your father is evil, Wi.”

“Fudge?” she replies.

“What’d she say?” John asks.

“Nothing,” Sherlock says, placing Wiley back onto the floor.

“Did she just say fudge?” John asks.

“Of course not.”

“Don’t share the fudge with her, Sherlock.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock squeaks out as Wiley grabs his hand and pulls him to the kitchen.

“I know when you’re lying, Sherlock.”

Wiley pushes him to the fridge. He opens it and John hears it.

“Sher—“

“Gotta go, love you!”

Sherlock hangs up before he can admit sharing the fudge with their youngest. John can be upset about it later, after it’s already done and Sherlock can’t do anything about it.

Sherlock leaves her at the kitchen table to eat her snack while he gathers her shoes and other things they’ll need while they’re out. When he returns, she’s finished, so he kneels to get her shoes on. He doesn’t see anything on her hand before she reaches forward and touches his cheek, chocolate smearing across his skin. He just sighs and gets to his feet to clean it off of himself and her. When they’re clean, he picks her up and they head for the door.

“I’m not paying you in fudge every time you pee,” he tells her.

She kisses his cheek in reply, then starts twirling his hair between her fingers.

 

 


	11. Elias and Petra, age 17

**Elias and Petra, 17**

John happily welcomes each child to the table for breakfast. It’s Saturday morning, the day after Petra’s seventeenth birthday, and the previous evening they let Petra and Elias go out with friends. It wasn’t unusual, they had mutual friends and were together a lot, but last night was the first night they didn’t have a curfew.

Sherlock finally joins as the last of the kids are stumbling in.

“Petra and Elias are still asleep?” he asks, kissing John’s head.

John nods. “Taylor, what time did Elias stumble in last night?”

Taylor looks up from his plate, egg dangling out of his mouth. He motions to speak, but John stops him before he spits egg everywhere.

Finally, Taylor swallows and can answer. “They didn’t come home until around three, maybe four.”

“Oh god,” John mutters. “They’ll probably sleep the day away. I wonder what they even did last night.”

“Well,” Sherlock says. “Judging by the mud on their discarded shoes downstairs—“

“Do not deduce our children, please.”

Sherlock shrugs and continues eating his toast.

Cole is the last child to run up the stairs to join everyone for breakfast. He usually is, but this morning it is more of an excited run than just a hungry run.

“Dad! Papa!”

John and Sherlock turn on time for Cole to run up to them.

“Petra and Elias are puking!”

John frowns, confused. “Why are they—“

Sherlock sighs. “Oh god.”

In seconds, John realizes what Sherlock’s already realized. That their eldest, most responsible children are next door throwing up from hangovers.

John and Sherlock look at each other, giving each other a ‘punish-them-or-not’ look that they’ve perfected over the past decade.

“They’re puking a lot,” Cole adds to help sway the case either way.

“We’d better see how bad it is,” Sherlock says, standing from his seat. John doesn’t move. “Coming?” Sherlock asks.

“I haven’t finished my—“

“John!”

John sighs. “I don’t like seeing puke while I’m thinking about breakfast.”

Sherlock, being the one that wants to punish them, takes the stairs next door two at a time. John is slower behind him, because he thinks hangovers are enough of a punishment for their kids.

Sherlock goes right into the bathroom when he arrives, and he finds one kid on either side of the toilet, both of their backs pressed against the wall next to the toilet, on their faces a miserable frown.

John and Sherlock lean on the door frame.

“So, what did you guys do last night?” John asks, amused.

Sherlock shoves him.

“What?” John asks. “It’s funny!”

“It’s not funny!” Sherlock cries.

“Why isn’t it?”

Sherlock shakes his head and looks at the kids again. “Whose idea was this?”

Both kids point at the other.

John snorts. “Right, Elias.”

Elias’ jaw drops. “Why do you think this was my idea?” he asks, clearly offended.

John and Sherlock both lift an eyebrow.

Elias sighs. “Fine, it was my idea.”

“And why did you do it?” John asks, looking at Petra.

Petra shrugs.

“What and how much did you drink?” John asks next.

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak.

“Not you,” John stops him. “I want to hear it from them.”

Sherlock pouts and leans against the wall again.

Elias rubs his face and coughs a few times, but John waits patiently for him to start. Finally, he gets out, “Vodka. A lot of it.”

“Were you two alone?”

They both shake their heads.

“So all the friends you were with last night, their parents know you guys were drinking?”

Petra finally speaks. “Well, they probably do now, don’t they?”

“I don’t need sarcasm,” John says.

Petra’s head rolls back against the wall again.

Sherlock pushes himself off the wall. “Papa and I are going to finish breakfast while we think of a punishment for being so irresponsible.”

“Punishment?” Elias cries.

“Irresponsible!” Sherlock calls as he sweeps down the hall.

The two kids are in bed for the rest of the day, but the next day Sherlock gives them an extensive lecture on what alcohol can do to your body, the dangers of addiction, and other horror stories about alcohol. But it isn’t the lecture that will make the kids want to swear off alcohol, it’s the hangover, and that’s what John wanted.


End file.
